


where i end and you begin

by lovesongs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15337749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesongs/pseuds/lovesongs
Summary: mark was thirty years old when he learned that he was going to die soon.





	where i end and you begin

Mark was thirty years old when a neurologist diagnosed him with glioblastoma multiforme and announced that they'd eliminate the tumor in full measure if he was willing to go along, then he'd need to undergo chemoradiation to target those cells which they wouldn't be able to pull out to the hilt through surgery, still, there was a little chance he'd hold on, his doctor noted as he cast a strained glance at his figure. Hence, Mark rejected his counseling. He didn't desire to squander his remaining time on struggling to hold out for a little while longer. Mark didn't put much confidence in a fluke that his tumor would suddenly cease spreading here and there in his brain and he'd get better at one stroke. It wasn't going to happen either way so why would he bother to go all out for another second on the planet where he didn't have much to bequeath. He couldn't point out a person he was disposed to bequest his belongings to so he elected to sell it and donate all he'd gain to charity to aid cancer patients who still had a prospect to pull through.  
  
For all that Mark didn't wind up going about his routine. He hadn't locked up in his apartment or cut short his social relations; he feigned his buoyancy as well as he could, not making the effort to tell anyone, including his friends and colleagues, about his forthcoming death.  
  
His parents weren't aware either as he settled on not filling them in at all. He could foretell their reaction since they could as well set their sights on badgering him for simulating his disease to attract their attention: they used to say that absurd thing to him and his siblings a lot when they were still children and complained about their health issues off and on. They used to disparage them, drag them through the mud and scorn at them which ensued in his oldest sister's uterine cancer and uterus ablation and his younger brother's adult-onset asthma as a result later on. As a consequence Mark wasn't so disposed to grant them a chance to pull apart his struggle and reduce it to a scant trifle. It'd lead up to yet another ludicrous conflict they wouldn't come first in. He'd turn up his toes and dissipate before they'd figure it out, and there wouldn't be any more quarrels until midnight, any more brain cells splurged on figuring out who was wrong and who was right in their turbulent squabbles, any more yelling and tears.  
  
Mark couldn't help but chortle at the thought. He was in his office, sipping his cold coffee and flicking through the report and his resignation letter to print them out and hand them to his boss at a later date. It was pouring outside, people and cars were darting back and forth as throngs of ants hustling twigs from pillar to post.  
  
How ridiculous and asinine it all was, he mused: his last months and his short life in the main; thirty years burnt up on a lasting effort to endure days to confront his demise in the end. When he was a college student, during his third semester he really wanted to pitch off a bridge to put the bite on his parents. That being so, Mark didn't need to hang fire any longer. His death was closing in on him at a gallop. He could sense it clogging up his bones and tissues, his limbs turning inflated and plodding as his illness was diffusing through them. He used to consider death abominable and piercing as a blade, but his stance had altered since then. He no longer accepted that standpoint as true, quite the contrary, in his opinion, life was far more ferocious and ruthless than death.  
  
Mark stubbed out his cigarette on his hand yet felt neither pain nor burning. He snickered and flung his stub in the dustbin, then peered at a scorch imprinted on his palm as a reminder, a cue that demise was gradually eroding his flesh and bones up till he'd deteriorate.  
  
//  
  
He used to date a man. They met at the college, and at the outset they couldn't stand each other at all. Mark was upright yet sardonic; Jaebum was rebellious and turbulent. Nobody could clamp down on his unsettled temper for it could alter at any time. It was hard to suppress him. He couldn't bear limits and rules that tied him up, didn't permit him to select a path that he regarded as accurate and cogent. He was on the go all the time, he couldn't be at home or at college daylong, he felt the need to take a breath and glance around from time to time, find something disparate altogether. Their affair had been transient and tempestuous yet Mark ruminated on it and him quite often. Jaebum used to repeat that after their graduation he'd go globetrotting to scout their planet and people from other countries, and inasmuch as their relationship had reached a finale months before he became a graduate, Mark didn't find out if he really embarked on a journey or not. And Mark wasn't up to pry into his affairs. They weren't his concern.  
  
However, four years after their graduation ceremony he learned that Jaebum hadn't made it up till his twenty third birthday. He closed up all chinks in a door, stuck his head in a functioning oven and suffocated due to gassing while his parents weren't at home, moreover, before doing that he scribbled a rather succinct letter; it was as brusque and laconic as his personality. He used to follow a simple rule: keep your mouth shut when you don't have anything smart or important to say or add.  
  
His letter didn't contain any sufficient information that could help him or his friends figure out his reason and intention. It ended with a little abrupt valediction: "with love and pain".  
  
//  
  
Jinyoung was a college student and a standout sprinter. He had a thin build yet broad shoulders, muscular legs and pitch-black hair. He stuck out a mile, still, he didn't aspire to attract other people's attention. Sometimes he did his cousin a good turn at his traditional restaurant, taking orders and helping clean the kitchen after hours.  
  
Mark didn't want to plunge into a relationship that could end any minute so at first he was reluctant and didn't consent to go out for as long as he could hold the line, and still for all that Jinyoung didn't give up on persuading Mark to date him. He was young, ebullient and as scintillating as constellations. His life was only about to burst out, to sprout, on the other hand, Mark's life could terminate any second. However, Mark didn't reject him when Jinyoung asked him out for the third time, he surrendered since he could no longer withstand his persistent attempts to allure him, his perseverance. Hence, they started dating even though Mark didn't put much effort in their alliance (as he labeled it) and didn't tell Jinyoung about his impending passing. On the contrary, Jinyoung did his utmost not to let a thin as a reed thread that tied them together come apart. He often called in on him, brought food and beer as he found Mark a little too gaunt for his age, and they ended up either watching films or making love all night long. Jinyoung was sultry and greedy as any man at his age. They could roll around in Mark's bed till first light, trying out different positions, kissing so fiercely that in the afternoon they both woke up with swollen lips. Mark had a penchant for biting his tanned skin and observing as all places he'd bit turned purple or blue. He found it amusing.  
  
On the odd occasion, his enthusiasm and commitment called to mind Jaebum's incomplete plans he'd made and his outrageous dedication. Yet their tempers were absolutely discordant as a thunderstorm and a gentle wind.

//

Jinyoung didn't fancy his apartment, and when Mark asked him about a cause, he confessed that it brought on a sense of isolation and anguish. In addition, he wasn't fond of Mark's habit to smoke a cigarette pack a day and not eating anything more than porridge for lunch. He didn't announce his complaints out loud, but Mark could see right through him, he wasn't blind. Still, he wasn't going to alter his routine: he was used to getting up first thing in the morning, making strong coffee while dragging on a cigarette and listening to his ancient radio set, be it songs or morning news. Once in a while he bought rum or cognac and downed it all alone at nightfall, and Jinyoung didn't find it righteous. He didn't ask any questions when Mark turned up at his threshold, rolling drunk, and fell into his arms; he didn't do or say anything that could lead to their split up. He was silent for the most part, and Mark didn't bother to tell him the truth.  
  
(That he was about to meet his death.)  
  
He didn't drop heaping cigarette stubs up in his ashtray, didn't quit drinking when he was in pain or dead on his feet, he stacked his clothing and not laundered it for a long time to enrage Jinyoung and spur him to turn his back on him.  
  
His scheme wasn't working though.  
  
Jinyoung was still in his life. He was an anchor that roped him and wasn't prone to set him free.  
  
"You never talk about your issues", Jinyoung noted once, peering at his face.  
  
They were lolling about on his couch.  
  
"My life's dull and boring", Mark replied.  
  
"That's a lie."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Each person has a story to tell."  
  
"I don't", Mark pressed his chapped lips against Jinyoung's forehead, "I really don't. I swear."  
  
"Do you get along with your family? Do you have siblings? Have you ever loved anyone?"  
  
Mark smiled at him, but didn't respond.  
  
"Why are you silent all the time?"  
  
"I'm trying to get used to silence."  
  
"What's bothering you?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm as calm as a millpond."  
  
"I'm not stupid."  
  
"No, you're smart. But I don't want to touch on that topic at the moment, alright?"  
  
"Fine. Oh, you're such a bore."  
  
//  
  
Suddenly, his condition hit the skids, and so he ended up in an intensive care unit in the hospital that was located not far off his office building. He noticed a cardiac monitor, intravenous lines attaching him to another machine and a doctor, standing beside his bed and leafing through his test results, his face composed yet concerned.  
  
"Your state's rapidly degenerating", he said.  
  
"I know", Mark glanced around and then asked him, "How did I come upon this place?"  
  
"You refused treatment, am I right?"  
  
"How did I get to the hospital?"  
  
"You collapsed. Your friend called the ambulance. He's also behind the door."  
  
"Did you tell him about my disease?"  
  
"Of course not. We can divulge such information to your family members only, not your friends. And we tend to stick to that rule."  
  
"Okay. Alright. That's fine. Thank you."  
  
"You don't need to thank me. So did you really refuse surgery and treatment, sir?"  
  
"Yes, I did. Four months ago."  
  
"We can't cure you. It's a little too late. You do understand it, don't you?"  
  
Mark chuckled, "Of course, I do."  
  
"You're going to die in a month or so."  
  
"I comprehend it as well, doctor."  
  
"Well, I see", the man sighed, "Do you want me to let your friend in then? He's really worried."  
  
"No, tell him I'm still unconscious, please."  
  
"Alright. Take a rest, sir. You're still weak. You can leave in the evening."  
  
//  
  
He left the hospital at dusk and as soon as he came upon a park not far off he lit up a cigarette and turned on his phone to call Jinyoung. The younger picked up a minute later, but neither greeted him nor asked him if he felt better; he was so quiet he could hear a pin drop.  
  
"Hey", Mark said, "Where are you?"  
  
"They said it was medical confidentiality so they didn't have the right to disclose it. What's going on? Are you ill? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Mark breathed out and rubbed his fatigued eyes.  
  
"I'm more or less fine right now. Can we meet?"  
  
"Will you spill the truth then? If I consent."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Alright", Jinyoung muttered, "Where?"  
  
"At my place in an hour. I'll rustle up dinner."  
  
"I'll bring beer then?"  
  
"Okay. See you later."  
  
"I love you", the younger whispered double quick before Mark could hang up, "I was so distraught."  
  
However, Mark didn't say anything back.  
  
//  
  
"So. Here's the fact. I'm going to die", he declared as soon as they plumped on his couch and cracked their cans open, "I have a month left."  
  
Jinyoung was about to dig in his food, but stopped in his tracks once he digested it. He straightened his back and stared at Mark as thought that statement made his blood run cold.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Glioblastoma multiforme. Brain tumor."  
  
"Why didn't you bother to tell me earlier?"  
  
"It didn't and doesn't matter."  
  
"It does", Jinyoung hissed, "I love you. What am I supposed to do at present, knowing that you can die any moment? Are you receiving treatment?"  
  
"I'm not", Mark replied calmly, "It's too late."  
  
"Are you taking medication?"  
  
"I am, but they're not helping that much."  
  
"Of course, they're not", his boyfriend leaped up, yelling, tears spurting down his cheeks, "You're not trying to pull through. Why? For fuck's sake."  
  
"You're right. Are you satisfied?"  
  
Jinyoung let out a frantic cackle.  
  
"Why would I be satisfied? I'm hurt."  
  
Mark reached out to wipe his eyes, but Jinyoung pushed his hand off and said, "Don't touch me."  
  
"Why are you hurt?", Mark questioned.  
  
"Because I love you, asshole. I don't want you to die. Don't die, do you hear me? Don't leave me."  
  
Mark smiled, but his smile appeared brittle. He embraced Jinyoung, feeling as his trembling arms wrapped around his neck and as his chafed lips brushed against his skin there, and they fell silent, lost in their distorted and tangled thoughts.  
  
"Do you love me?", Jinyoung suddenly asked.  
  
"I do", but his response didn't sound convincing.  
  
"What can I do to help you?"  
  
"You can't do anything. Just be here."  
  
"I won't be able to bear it. Your death."  
  
"Then let's split up", Mark mumbled as he planted a soft kiss on his temple, "I want you to start over, to find someone else to love."  
  
"Shut up. You don't understand a thing. After everything we've been through you want to die and leave me high and dry? Fuck you."  
  
"Nothing's infinite, Jinyoung, not even loss or pain or love. You'll cope with it all. You'll be fine."  
  
Jinyoung punched his chest and pulled back, his eyes red and swollen. He rubbed his face.  
  
"Bonehead", he murmured, "I won't be alright, and you know that yet you keep repeating the same bullshit again and again to clear your conscience."  
  
"You're wrong", he was right.  
  
"You remind me of my father. He died ten years ago. He didn't have the guts, couldn't even go out to buy cigarettes on his own. I and my sisters had to pay the bills, prepare dinners and so on. He was hauling us all down. He wasn't our father anymore. When he died, I finally breathed out. I could move on."  
  
"What about your mother?"  
  
"I was four years old when she left our father."  
  
"Is she alive?"  
  
"I don't know. Consider her dead."  
  
Mark chuckled and lit up a cigarette, but before he could drag on it Jinyoung snatched it out of his hand without delay, then stubbed it out and crumpled it as a paper. He peered at Mark.  
  
"You're not going to die on me here."  
  
"I don't have lung cancer."  
  
"It's all the same to me. You're not smoking or drinking alcohol from now on, understood?"  
  
"You're not my mother to command me."  
  
"I'm not, but I'm your boyfriend."  
  
"Piss off", Mark laughed at him, "Old geezer."  
  
//  
  
Mark died three months later as quietly as possible. They clothed his corpse in a suit, put it into a coffin and buried him. Jinyoung was the only person present at his funeral. He was shedding tears, his heart hurt so much that he desired to tear it out, he was ripped at every edge, but he was going to get through it. Nothing was infinite, not even loss or pain. Mark was right. He'll be able to get a grip on his emotions and strength left. He'll move on.


End file.
